


please don't leave drinks unattended

by springsoldier (ladydaredevil)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, F/F, Female Bucky Barnes, Female Steve Rogers, POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3577272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydaredevil/pseuds/springsoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam’s bar is a respectable establishment, Stella Rogers is not a damsel in distress, Becca Barnes’ honour is defended, and some spies could do a better job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	please don't leave drinks unattended

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninemoons42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/gifts).



> Here you go, ninemoon42! Hope you like it. Action is not my forte but... I tried?

 

Sam’s bar is mostly staffed by vets trying to get back into the swing of things, so it’s really not somewhere people go to pick fights. Especially on a Wednesday night, when business is slow and the place mostly empty.

Something as mundane as plausibility’s never stopped Stella, though. Becca’s pretty sure she could start a riot in a convent, but it’s not a theory she ever wants to put to the test. Becca’s not even working tonight; they’re just there because Stella’s meeting a friend.

She’s halfway through (winning) a game of pool with a couple of guys she knows from Basic when she hears the tell-tale signs of her girlfriend pissing someone off. It hasn’t progressed very far yet, but it’s getting there. She misses her shot when the raised voices turn into shouts.

Shit.

“Gotta go”, she says, assessing the situation and guessing that they’re about thirty seconds away from getting physical. The guys shrug good-naturedly, because they’ve been around enough to know how these things go.

 Becca thanks God every day for the fact that most people think twice about hitting frail women in public, but she’s not going to stand by and watch Stella get pushed around either.

She slides up to her girlfriend and asks, very loudly and in a tone that’s both pleasant and mildly threatening (it’s served her well in the past) if he’d mind not taking that tone, a firm hand finding its way to Stella’s shoulder.

The guy is, thankfully, only a mildly drunk jerk, with enough sense left in him not to cause a scene, so he backs off as soon as he notices that he’s drawn hostile attention from the other patrons. Becca makes sure he’s gone for real, and turns an unimpressed stare on Stella.

“I was handling it,” she says, running a hand through her already somewhat messy hair, still seething. “You don’t have to – hover.”

Becca snort and throws an arm around her, steering her away from the audience the altercation has drawn.

“And you don’t need to pick fights with every asshole you run into. Sam does try to run a respectable establishment, you know.”

“Damn right,” Sam replies from behind the bar. She looks like she’d been about to intervene, too, and she nods her thanks to Becca, looking a little weary. “No fights in my bar, please. Take it outside it you have to. Or, you know, just don’t.”

“Sorry, Sam.” She shrugs it off and goes back to a pair of customers. Sam is pretty much a saint, if you ask Becca.

Stella takes a few deep breaths, sits back at her spot at the counter and orders another scotch, even though Becca knows she hates the taste. She still thinks that it’ll prove something to the world, that she drinks hard liquor.

Becca gets a Sex on the Beach, because she’s lost whatever fucks she might once have given about what her drink choices say about her. She probably left those somewhere in Iraq along with her left arm.

“Paper umbrella?” Sam asks, smirking.

“Make it two.”

The second umbrella gets dropped into Stella’s drink, and she smiles despite herself. Becca takes the seat next to her, peering into her abandoned sketchbook. It’s a half-done portrait of Sam, talking animatedly to someone off page. It’s beautiful, but then Becca’s thought that about Stella’s drawings since they were in crayon. She pushes the pad back towards Stella, who takes the opportunity to snag her flesh hand in one of hers.

“So what was that all about?”

  “He was being rude.” She hesitates. “About you.” Her eyes flash in anger again and Becca’s annoyance shouldn’t melt away, but it does. Stella’s always been touchy about comments on Becca’s appearance, whether they’re about her ass or, more recently, the prosthetic arm. 

“My hero.”

“Shut up,” Stella grumbles, flushing.

Becca smiles and brings their joined hands to her lips.

“Hey, how did your meeting with Pepper go? You didn’t say.”

“He wants to commission a series.”

Becca’s eyebrows rise.

“What’d Toni do this time?”

“Pepper wouldn’t tell me. Don’t you have a tune up next week? You can ask while she’s distracted.”

Becca hums in agreement. “Well, congrats on the deal. I guess we won’t go hungry for a while, huh?”

Stella nods, but she’s nowhere near as enthusiastic as this kind of news should warrant, as she used to be when _Stark Industries_ started buying her paintings.

The thing is, Stella’s not always comfortable with Stark’s patronage, and most of the considerable money she makes goes straight to charity or, well, to Becca’s therapy sessions. The rest pays for her art supplies and an apartment in Brooklyn that’s bigger than a closet.

The _other_ thing is, Stella’s popularnow (if she sees another article about her being a ‘rising star’, Becca’s making her change her name). And while Becca’s never going to complain about the ridiculous sums that just show up in their joint bank account from time to time, she can tell that Stella hates wondering if her art is -- well, a fad.

Still, it beats being dirt poor, the way it used to be when they were kids. Becca joined the army because she wanted to serve, yeah, but also because the pay was decent and her mom had three other kids to send to college, and because she was gonna help Stella with her ever-climbing medical bills whether she wanted it or not.

It still kinda blows Becca’s mind that they’re friends of _Toni Stark_ (genius, billionaire, playgirl, philanthropist), who was her number one celebrity crush when she was a kid and is, it turns out, a fucking lunatic. A very generous one, though, who made her an incredibly advanced arm just because she likes Stella (mainly because Stella helps her stay in her assistant’s good graces).

“Don’t worry, they’ll get sick of t you soon enough and you can go back to making true art,” she teases, because Stella worries too much about these things. It earns her a glare.

“Your face is true art.”

Becca almost spits out her drink, choking on laughter.  After a beat Stella joins her.

“That was not your best comeback.”

“I guess I’m off my game.”

They fall into a comfortable silence as Stella goes back to her sketch, pencil in one hand and absentmindedly holding onto Becca’s with the other.

  

It’s only because she’s never quite grown out of keeping track of her surrounding that Becca notices a pair of customers come in and make a beeline for the best situated table in terms of exit strategies. Which could be a coincidence, but…

It’s Romanov and Barton, and Becca’s seen them around often enough to know that it’s not regular behaviour. Clea’s never seemed like the brightest bulb, but Becca is wary of anyone who’s got that good an aim (possibly she’s a little sore about how utterly she gets beaten at darts by Miss “Grew Up in a Circus” Barton whenever they play). Some of those shots are downright impossible.

Sam likes her though, and Sam’s a pretty good judge of character usually, but she might be biased on this one, because Barton is a fellow bird enthusiast. _Nerds_ , the both of them. Stella likes her too. They teach each other rude things in sign language. Normally that’d be enough for Becca to trust them, but there’s always been something off about those two.  

Romanov, on the other hand, Becca kinda likes, even if she’s a little wary. He does Tall Dark and Handsome like he’s going for an Oscar, but his jokes are downright awful, and Becca’s always a good public for those. If she weren’t crazy in love with Stella, she might’ve tried her luck, but as it is she just teases Sam mercilessly about her really very obvious crush. 

(Barton says he’s actually ginger and dyes his hair to look more mysterious.)

If she hadn’t been watching already she’d never have noticed the way the way they pay excessive attention to the backpack Barton’s holding in her lap, or how they keep checking the time, the exits, and generally acting like _something_ is about to go down.

Becca squints at them, trying to figure out if she’s being paranoid or if she’s onto something. Then Romanov’s hand flies to his ear, to what is definitely an earpiece, and Becca knew they were probably government agents of some kind (travel agents her ass, but they tend not to pry into their clientele’s past), but whatever they’re doing, did they really have to do it in this particular bar?

“What the hell… Hey Stell?”

“Hm?” Stella asks, still distracted.

“Do Romanov and Barton seem weird to you?”

Stella raises her head, frowning.

“More than usual, you mean?”

They’re talking now, Barton gesturing to the back door and Romanov shaking his head, hand still over his ear. Then, as one, they turn to the counter, exchange a look, and make their way over.

“Hi, Sam! Listen, this is gonna sound weird, but can we use your –“

“No time” Romanov cuts in, and he just jumps over the counter, practically onto a startled Sam. Barton shrugs and does the same, crouching low. Just in time, apparently, because a man bursts in, and he does not look happy not to find them.

He gets snapped at by the few patrons he shoves aside (it’s not like the place is packed, the guy is clearly just an asshole).  Definitely military trained -- or something like it, at least, Becca thinks, and tries not to wince. Sam has gotten with the program and is polishing glasses like this kind of thing happens all the time. Becca’s trying to do the same, but her eyes keep drifting to Stella, who’s _not_ trained for this kind of situation, and likely to do something dumb.

“Where are they?”

“Who?” Sam looks utterly puzzled, and Becca idly thinks she should’ve been an actress. Her hands clench uselessly at her sides. She’s friendly enough with Barton and Romanov, and this guy looks like bad news, but with nothing else to go on, she can’t decide what to do.

 “You know who.”

That’s when the guy does something phenomenally dumb and decides to grab Stella, probably in an attempt to seem more threatening (of course it’s gotta be Stella).

Becca sees red, but before she can beat the guy to a pulp with her shiny new metal arm, Stella’s twisted the guy’s arm away and smashed a heavy plate, that probably used to contain someone’s nachos, into his startled face. He goes down hard.  

Let it never be said that Stella Rogers is a damsel in distress. She beams at Becca, who can’t help grinning back, proud and maybe a little turned on. She knew those self-defence classes would pay off some day.

“Well, that was anti-climactic --” Sam starts, and is immediately interrupted by the door banging open to reveal a whole team of similarly dressed people, actually armed this time.

The crowd, understandably, freaks out, but there are enough soldiers in the lot that someone seems to take charge and starts herding civilians away.   

There’s no way they can make it though, not when the unconscious man on the ground’s already been noticed, so Becca grabs Stella and throws her over the counter to relative safety, jumping after.

“ _Beck_ ” Stella hisses, rubbing at her elbow. Becca digs her gun out of her purse, and hands Stella her spare knife in apology. There isn’t much more she can do.

“Didn’t we agree you should leave those at home?” Her girlfriend grumbles, far more casual about this whole situation than she should be.

“Well it’s a good thing I didn’t then, isn’t it?”

Barton, crouching next to her, is assembling some kind of weapon, and how the hell did this happen, it’s _Wednesday_ , she’s retired, and Stella didn’t even do anything this time.

“ _Is that a bow??”_

“You got something against bows?”

“Oh, never mind.”

The shooting starts, and a bullet flies way too close to her head for comfort when she sneaks a look at their attackers. She really wants to curl around Stella and close her eyes until this all goes away, but Stella, Stella doesn’t look scared, just frustrated and almost enthralled by the ambient chaos. Damn adrenaline junkie.

It turns out Romanov is armed, too, and more conventionally so. One hell of a shot too, if the groans echoing around them are any indication.

Becca really misses her rifle, her pistol practically useless at this range, in this sort of chaos.

“Whatever’s going on, couldn’t it have happened anywhere else? _Anywhere else._ ” Sam groans, as she reaches for the shotgun she keeps under the counter. Bottles shatter above their heads and they shield themselves from the debris, Sam letting out an impressive string of curses.

Becca sighs, and resigns herself to the fact that retirement isn’t all it’s cut out to be. She aims for the closest mook, and misses a couple of shots before she nails him.

Barton, the bitch, has the gall to snicker. Becca waits until she fires her arrow (it hits the mark and, weirdly enough, explodes) to kick her in the shin.

“Ow!”

Stella’s noticed the exchange and has turned a vicious eye on Barton, oblivious to more immediate concerns.

“Did you just _laugh_ at my girlfriend?”

“Uh, Stella? Priorities?” Sam says, reloading. “Don’t distract the secret agent.”

“—Especially since whatever’s going on right now is almost definitely your fault?”

Barton winces, but doesn’t falter. Becca’s found her stride by then, and she reaches a hand back to pat Stella’s arm, amused.

“Okay, okay, settle down, Stell.”

By the time they’ve more or less organised – and between the four of them (and no, Stella doesn’t count, not this time) Becca’s pretty confident they take out the pack of – whoever these people are. Romanov is still talking in his earpiece and _another_ team bursts in, roughly forty seconds after the first one.  It’s Barton and Romanov’s people, though, this time.

It is, after all that, pretty anti-climactic.

The Bad Guys (Becca has no other way to qualify them, because she still has no idea what the ever-loving fuck is going on), surrender pretty quickly. Barton takes out the one idiot who makes an attempt at taking hostages though, and maybe she was making hasty judgments about the bow.

She doesn’t even get to use her new arm, which is both a relief and somewhat disappointing.

“Hey, Hill. Thanks for the assist!” Barton says, vaulting back over the counter, like nothing particularly unusual has happened, once the situation’s under control.

Hill – a harassed-looking guy, apparently their boss – just sighs at her. “So that went well.”

“Where’s Erskine? She didn’t show.”

“We got her in time, it’s fine.”

“Dr. Erskine?” Stella cuts in, surprised, as she rises from her spot on the ground.

“You know her?”

“Yeah, I was supposed to meet up with her tonight. She bought one of my first paintings a few years back. Actually that’s how – Oh.  ”

“What?”

“That’s how Pepper saw it. Uh, Mr. Potts. From Stark Industries.”

Hill – whoever he is – stares at Stella intently. Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to find it, because his eyebrows rise comically high.

“ _You’re_ Erskine’s candidate?”

“The what now?” Becca asks, not sure if she really wants to know, or if she just wants to take Stella and run far, far away.

“Ha!” Barton says. “Told you it was the skinny one. You owe me, man.”

 Romanov rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll buy you dinner.”

Becca tunes them out as they fall into practiced bickering (she never has managed to figure out whether they’re a couple or not, but partners? Definitely) and head over to their people, probably to help with the cleanup (and/or interrogations).

Hill looks like he’s got one hell of a headache and Becca would offer him a drink, but Sam looks like she’s trying to decide if she wants to murder the lot of them, so it’s probably prudent not to. Sam takes a few deep breaths and seems to somehow manage to summon her usual calm and stalks off eventually, probably to yell at someone who looks like they’re in charge about her bar’s ruined reputation and ruined-- everything. The shootout, brief as it was, hasn’t been kind to the place.  

Hill – Deputy Director of SHIELD, he introduces himself – gives them a probably heavily redacted version of the events:

Agents Barton and Romanov were to meet with a very important contact they were getting ready to launch an experimental project with. It was in the bar because he’d wanted them to meet someone and it worked out because they were familiar with the area. 

But then Hydra – the Neo-Nazi organisation these clowns belong to – got wind of the project (because SHIELD has a mole infestation). They managed to grab the doctor before anything happened to her and she’s now safely stowed away in a safe house somewhere, but too late to pull out Barton and Romanov. Hence the mess that followed.

By the time he’s done Becca think she might be the one who needs a drink, but Stella looks fascinated by this whole new world  of deceit and _Nazis? Seriously?_

“But what did Erskine want with me?” She asks, almost breathless with anticipation.  

“Maybe you can paint them to death” Becca mutters, and is thoroughly ignored.

“Erskine’s created this – serum that would greatly improve physical and mental abilities in the subject. She thinks it’d only work properly on a certain type of people.”  

“Skinny asthmatics?” Stella asks, dubious.

“Ah, no. It’s more of a – moral fibre type of thing.” He explains awkwardly, like he can’t quite believe what he’s saying himself. “But it’d probably fix your health issues, if it worked.”

Becca exchanges a glance with Stella. If they want some kind of paragon of goodness Stella’s definitely their girl, but – The whole thing just sounds ridiculous. On the other hand, she’s all for something that would make Stella less likely to die from something as mundane as the flu.

“What’s it for, anyway?”

“Enhanced soldiers, agents, what have you. Medical use, eventually. You’d have to stay with us for a while, if it did work.” He turns to Becca. “Sergeant Barnes, right? How would you feel about a new job?”

“Who, me?” she asks, startled. “I’m retired.”

“Stark says you should be combat ready – and you should probably change therapists by the way, she’s hacked her way into your file. With the way things are going, we could use people like you.”

Becca groans. But Stella’s going to do the insane thing, she can tell. Stella was the one who really wanted to be a soldier, when they were kids. Stella’s the one who’s always dreamed of being something _more_.

“Fine,” She says. “If Stella’s serum thing works out, then I’ll work for you.”

Hill nods. “We’ll contact you once this mess’s under control.”

He leaves them to it and rescues one of his underlings from Sam’s wrath. Becca can hear promises of generous monetary compensation for the damages, and would she be interested in a career change? Becca’s starting to feel like this was really some kind of elaborate recruiting operation.

“Can we go home now?” She whines, after the nice agents have taken away the bunch of _Neo-Nazi terrorists_. What has her life gotten to? She hides her face in Stella’s hair for a minute, and her next words come out muffled. “I just really wanna go home.”

“Yeah, alright.” Stella rubs slow circles into her back. “It’s been a weird day.”

As they walk out the door, Stella tugs her back. They look back at the cleaning crews, and Sam who seems to have come to terms with the situation. She’s sharing a bottle of vodka with Barton and Romanov, who at least have the grace to look sheepish about the whole thing.

Stella turns to face her and looks her straight in the eye, serious.

“You don’t have to do it, you know. You don’t have to – I don’t know, protect me. You’ve given enough.”

He gaze falls down to Becca’s left arm, and her expression turns stormy, guilty. Becca holds her gaze, and there are a lot of things they need to talk about, but not tonight. Becca’s way too tired for emotionally deep conversations. So she shrugs, and gives Stella her best grin.

“You know me, I was never gonna stay a bartender forever. No _way_ am I letting you run off to be some kind of superspy by yourself.”

Stella smiles. A little sad, like she knows all the things Becca’s not saying, but grateful anyway.

“Thanks, Beck.” She pulls her down for a kiss, intense and worried and kind of elated through it all.

If today was any indication, they’re in for a lot of insanity. But they’ve been through a lot of things together. Will get through whatever the future might bring as long as they’re together, that Becca’s sure of.

She pulls back for a second, resting her forehead against Stella’s.

“And besides, it was kinda hot, watching you kick that guy’s ass.”

Stella laughs, and kisses her again.

 


End file.
